


Where the wolflings belong

by orphan_account



Series: The life and Times of Jon Targaryen [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Family, Modern AU, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 08:20:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3037823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jon contemplates on his predicament</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the wolflings belong

Jon's always been the calm child in the family. He supposes that it's the Stark blood he's gotten from his mother. Jon's never met her. She died when he was born. The only person who ever talked about her had been Professor Lannister, and he really didn't know that much. 

_"You know,you look remarkably like your Uncle Ned. I suppose that's your mother's genetics shining through. She looked a lot like you."_

_"You knew my mother?" "Hmm? Oh yes, I did. She used to tutor my brother for his tests, you know, a year or so before your father cheated on Elia Martell with her." Professor Lannister rarely gives a fuck about other people's tender feelings and isn't really in the habit of watering down a truth so it sounds a little kinder, and Jon loves him for that. "That was when she used to intern at Storm's End. She'd bring me lemon cakes every time she came over to ours. Cersei hated her, and Jaime thought she was the best ever. That was, of course, long before he met Brie." He grins to himself. "She was smart, Robert's Lyanna, and stubborn. I can't imagine a girl less like Rhaegar in every way."_

No one less like Rhaegar, then, Jon thinks bitterly. If so, she'd have loved me. Like she loved Uncle Ned. Mother and Uncle Ned shared a bond. He'd been with her when she died. Jon wishes that she hadn't. He'd rather not have been born amidst the tragedy that wracked them all apart. He never says it out loud. The one time he does, it's at the Starks' and Robb and Arya and  Bran make sure he never says it again. And he can't bear to recall the look on Uncle Ned's face when he said it. 

_"I can't believe you could say something like that!" Arya lunged at him, pushing him off the beanbag onto the floor, at the same time as Robb. He was eleven then, and his skinny coltish cousin was 6 in all her fury. "You're ours you know."_

_"Robb clonked him on the head. Hard. "Don't you ever dare say that you dollop." He growls, as the two of them pin him to the ground together. Jon's taller than Robb, but Robb's stronger and Arya's on a sugar high. He's no match for them. "OW, Robb, Arya, let go of me!" "Not until you take back what you just said!" Yells Robb as Arya tickles him mercilessly. "It's true! And you know it is! Everyone does!"_

_"Yeah, but we love you anyway." Little Bran, probably too little to understand, but oh so sympathetic. He's all Tully in colour, like Aunt Cat and Robb and Sansa, but there's something outrageously Stark in him, and they could all see it, though he was four. They'd let go of him, in time, and when they did, Jon had swallowed in a few sobs._

_The four of them had spent that evening curled around the beanbag, with Arya holding on to him like she'd never let go._

Arya, his sweet little sister, the little girl who meant more than the world to him. The little sister who, according to Aunt Cat, "thinks that you hung the moon." He loved Rhae, he really did, but there was something between him and Arya. Something sweet. And it was her that had written to him. They never mailed each other, always letters. Jon found comfort in that, and Sansa did say that "she sleeps with your letters under her pillow".

Tentatively he pulls the shift of paper out of its cover and begins to read.

 

_Dearest Jon,_

_(Sounds cheesy, yeah? I picked it up from an old letter that Aunt Lya sent to Dad. There's a lot of them in the attic, stuff that your mum wrote. Maybe we can go through it all when you come up North to join up at Castle Black.) I hope the dragons haven't gobbled you up back down south and I hope you've been alright._ Jon feels the mattress dip as Ghost jumps onto the bed and peers at the letter over his shoulder.

_We've been having an awful year, and the summer's started smack with a wad of bad news. Daddy's coming to King's landing now that Jon Arryn's gone and Prime minister fat drunk wants him as his state secretary. Me and stupid Sansa are supposed to go with him, which is so not fair, because I'd rather stay home in the North with mum and the boys, but Sansa, the stupid face wants to be at King's landing so bad, and I have to tag along with her._

_That being said, Bran's physio is working pretty good. Dr. Reed says it'll heal up pretty nicely, even though he'll probably need to be in his wheelchair for a while. Bran's pretty upset about that, and it's everything mum and Robb can do to keep him all happy._ Eleven year old Brandon had fallen off a tower wall three months ago and had been in a coma for a week. It was a huge blow to the Stark family and Jon had spent every weekend and holiday catching rides up to Winterfell to be with them as much as he could. It was exhausting, but he owed it to Uncle Ned. 

_Robb's really excited, even with all of that. He's going to be the "man of the household" while Daddy's away and he's really hyped about starting out at Winterfell this year. Mum's oh so proud of him. She sends her love, you know, and hopes you've thought it out a few times before deciding to take the black. Uncle Ben was hopping mad the first time he hear you wanted to join. Thought you were too young for the wall. But Daddy's really proud of you. He says the Starks have manned the wall for as long as it's stood, and that you've got as much Stark blood as anyone else._ Of course, he did. "You may not have my name but you have my blood." was a catchphrase of Uncle Ned's, and Jon was often comforted by it. 

He wishes he was a Stark, even a bastard Stark. There was such a sense of belonging up North, in Winterfell, something he never felt in all his years in Summerhall. 

_You may not have my name but you have my blood._

There were so many times that Jon wishes his mother was alive, and he knows Uncle Ned and Uncle Ben wish it a thousand times more. He's never known what his father thinks, and he's never had the courage to ask it of him. He's never had much courage to face his father, and that mournful gaze of his. 

_Rickon's doing fine really, he spent the entire day bothering me on when I was going to write to you. I'm glad he's such a ball of energy for a seven year old, even though he annoys me at times. I can't imagine me being that hyper back then. Wait, Robb's been reading this over my shoulder and tells me that I was the worst and that you'd be the one to know it best. I wasn't was I?_ She was a little monkey of a sister, still is, but he does love her so. And all of them, all five of them.

_All of them send you their love and hope you'll be here with us before Daddy drags us off down South._

_Until then, Brother mine, (again snagged shamefully from Aunt Lya's letters.)_

_Arya._

 

_PS My fencing lessons are going real fantastic! Can't wait to show you my new moves!_

_PPS Please be here before we go south. We really miss you._

_PPPS Don't mope too much and don't let those stupid Targs upset you. (Joking! I know they're your family.)_

_PPPPS Nymeria misses Ghost._

_PPPPPS But not as much as I miss you. Stay safe._

 

There's a dried winter rose along with the letter and an old photograph of Jon's mother. He kisses it softly and puts it in his diary. Arya's letters always leave him happy in a bittersweet way. They're his secret, his silent joy, and he's glad for them.

And the only way he can be in the North with them, is at the Wall. 

He loves the North and its cold. And its summer snow. 

And he loves honour and duty and his Stark heritage. 

And he believes in the Night's Watch.

He is Jon Targaryen and he's nothing like his father. 

 

Of course, he knows he's a bastard, and it irks him to no end. Which was pretty much why Professor Tyrion Lannister, with his notorious love for "cripples and bastards and broken things" had taken him sort of under his wing during Jon's part time job at the King's road cafe. The professor would stop by every afternoon for a mug of Irish coffee, with its generous splash of whiskey. He was away from his place at Casterly, on his much needed sabbatical  and so had all the time in the world to pursue his greatest loves. Booze and women.

"And what's a Stark child doing here so south of Greywater?" He'd asked, when Jon served him his coffee. "I'm not a Stark."

"No? But you're Eddard Stark come south again, and I hardly think either of the Stark men would be up to fathering bastards and Brandon's little girl is in Dorne with her ma. Unless of course you're Lyanna's boy, which makes you a Targaryen. Hold it then," he says peering at Jon from his seat. "You  _are_ Rhaegar's bastard. Gods there's not a smidge of your father in your colouring. But there's something of him in there, no doubt." Jon had stiffened and that had been taken as a word of assent. 

"So, Targaryen." He glances at the name tag and smirks. "Jon Snow? Original aren't you?" Back in the day, Northborn bastards used the surname Snow, as a practice. Jon had meant to use either Sand or Waters, but he reckoned there was something about the name Jon Snow. "Proclaiming your bastardy to the entire world." Jon serves the professor's coffee as fast as he can, and moves out. But when he returns with the bill, Lannister grabs his arm and pulls him downwards. 

"I like your style boy." He says. "Never forget what you are, no one else will. Wear it like chainmail, so it cannot hurt you." And Jon knew, with one look at the man's stunted limbs and large head, that this was one who understood. Even so, "What do you know? You're not the bastard that made a war." 

The professor lets go of his hand, sharply. "But I am the dwarf, the drunk and the lecher. I am the stain on the Lannister line. You understand boy. So do I."

And that,was the start of a strange comradeship that lasted well out of the professor's sabbatical.

It had been the professor after all, who had asked after his plans beyond school, and it had been the professor that he'd first confessed his very real idea of Castle Black to. 

"And go celibate? Have you ever had a girl, boy?" Jon shook his head. "Then do you know what it is you're missing? No, I thought not. I suggest you first sleep with a girl and then come to me with your answer." "I don't want to have a bastard." Professor imp laughed. "Ever heard of birth control?" "I don't want se- uh, something like that."

"You can barely say the word sex. Gods be good Jon, you're still a boy. I'd tell you to wait." "The watch waits for no man." "The watch is no longer what it was. Do you understand that? It's almost like correction school, only for life." "There's honour in taking the black. The kind of honour that won't come from being a bastard. At least they won't spin the worst on you, professor." He doesn't look at the imp, but he knows the professor is watching him. And he knows his eyes are kind.

"My dear dear boy. I don't think you really believe that. Then again, I suppose you maybe right." It's not what Jon had expected to hear. 

"You are a  _Stark,_ a wolfling. And the North is the place where you belong."

And that meant something a thousand times more than anything his father could have said.


End file.
